Broken Wings
by Ani101
Summary: Set directly after Mommy Dearest: Sam is missing, Dean is frantic, Crowley's alive and Castiel seems to be incriminated...meant to be a threeshot hopefully finished before next Friday's episode. I know I call it horror but it's not very intense.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is in no way connected to the other one I'm posting-I'm sorry but I'm having to put **_**Personal Demons**_** briefly on hold, since after the last episode **_**Mommy Dearest**_** I just had to write this one. It'll only be about a threeshot, as I want to have it done before next Friday's episode…**

**And no, I couldn't stop myself getting Sam kidnapped again. I just have a thing about that. **

Broken Wings

Chapter 1:

Sam Winchester opened his eyes to total darkness. He blinked several times but it made no difference except to the pounding of his head. He tried to cajole his sluggish memory but it had the same effect.

Where am I? What happened?

He was tied to some hard metal surface; he could feel the cold of it through the rips in his shirt. Wait-his shirt was ripped-how had that happened?

"Hey!" he called hoarsely, his voice seeming to boom and echo for a very, very long way. "Hey, anybody there? What's going on?"

Actually, he had a fairly good idea of what was going on. He seemed to have been kidnapped again, but by who, and why? He closed his eyes again, slowing his breathing, trying to concentrate. His last memory…well, he and Bobby had just put their suspicions about Cas out into the open, and it hadn't gone down well with Dean…but what else could they think after the angel's recent behaviour: all that business with touching people's souls? Once could be understood, but now…Castiel had changed drastically since Sam had fallen into the Pit, that much was clear. Anyway-they had gone back to Bobby's, Sam remembered that, because he remembered falling asleep fully clothed and without having even washed the blood off his hands in the little room he used when he and Dean stayed there, as they did so often these days. Ironic really, that after all this time they almost had a permanent home, with their grumpy, wonderful surrogate father…who Sam had wronged so badly and still had not been able to redeem himself to. Oh sure, Bobby appeared to have forgiven him, to some extent at least. But forgiving himself was another matter…

Suddenly it all came back to him: he had heard a noise in the middle of the night, had woken to some kind of ringing. At first he had thought it was just in his head, but as he lay there, listening, staring up into the shadows, it had grown louder and louder…the sensible move then would have been to wake Dean or Bobby, he supposed. But no…he had taken his gun and gone out into the yard alone to investigate. He frowned as the memories came rushing back-powerful hands grabbing him from behind, spinning him round, a hand touching his forehead. A familiar voice. And then landing hard and falling to the floor, in this complete darkness, and fighting immediately, blindly…more voices, hands trying to restrain him. And then he remembered a burst of pain in his head, and then nothing…

So…what? He had gotten himself kidnapped from Bobby's house, somehow teleported here and when he resisted knocked unconscious and tied up. That quite honestly was not so unusual, taking into account that Sam _was_ a hunter. It had happened before. What was wrong in this was that…only an angel could have done the actual capturing part. He knew the feeling. He had been angel-zapped here…his breath caught in his throat. No, God no. Relax. You don't know it was Cas. Coulda been any one of the millions of angels who want you and Dean out of the picture. Things aren't simple in heaven, remember? It wasn't Cas. It can't have been Cas…

That voice, though…he could barely even remember the words, confused as his memories were, but if he tried really hard…"I'm sorry, Sam." Castiel's voice. Unmistakeably…

No. No. No…Castiel turned traitor? Despite all his earlier suspicions, Sam could still not somehow credit it. Nearly three years now he had known the angel-Castiel had almost given his life for him and Dean many times over. Had done, in fact…Sam's face twisted involuntarily at the memory of the angel literally exploding in his grasp, by his power, by _Lucifer's_ command, in that graveyard…such things did not fade easily.

It did not make sense. How could Castiel have betrayed them?

And yet what other answer could there be?

Panicked and helpless, Sam closed his eyes. Dean…is Dean here? Did they get him too? Did _Castiel_ get him too? He hated being unable to see, hated the pressing blackness…"Dean!" he yelled desperately. "_Dean_!" But there was no reply…

Except suddenly, voices: again, far off in the distance. Sam sat up straighter, wincing as pain seared through his head, listening hard:

"And why exactly would I want to give you the chance to plot your weaselly way out of this with your boyfriend's kid brother?"

No-not possible_-Crowley_?

And then the measured, careful, weary tones of the angel: "Just let me talk to him first. Two minutes."

"Hey!" Sam yelled. "Hey, Cas!"

A door slammed somewhere far off. Slow footsteps approaching.

"Castiel, if that's you-" Sam paused, baring his teeth silently in pain. His head seemed to be hurting more with every passing minute. "You don't have to do this. He's using you. C'mon, Cas, it's me…"

"You don't understand anything," Castiel's voice said out of the darkness beside him, far closer than Sam had expected. He jumped.

"So explain, for once!"

"I can't. Not everything."

"How about telling me why you're working for Crowley?" Sam demanded, fighting to keep his voice steady to hide the anger boiling within. He had to try and get through to the Castiel he and Dean knew-it was as far as he could see his only chance. "And what the hell I'm doing here? And-where's Dean? Is he here?"

"Your brother is where you last saw him," Castiel said tiredly. "You are here because we need you."

"Why?"

It was a long, long time before Castiel spoke again, and when he did he sounded more broken and, strangely, more human than Sam had ever known him. "It's your soul."

Sam blinked in surprise, turning his head blindly towards Castiel. "My _soul_? Is this about the wall?"

"Indirectly, yes…you have a unique soul, Sam, in a unique condition. For our work here…you are indispensable. Why do you think I never wanted to risk putting it back inside you? I was trying to protect you from this…but that is no longer possible. I want to tell you that I am deeply sorry."

Sam was beginning to panic now, his heart leaping inside him like a caged bird. He fought to control his breathing-he had not grown up with John Winchester as a father for nothing. "Cas, please. After everything…you can't do this. You can't. What does Crowley want with my soul? What's he planning?"

Castiel heaved a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you any more."

"_Cas_!"

Wingbeats. Castiel was gone. Sam sagged back against the metal plate, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, fighting to control himself, to understand. This was not possible. This could not be happening…

And then a burst of deep scarlet light, illuminating the confines of the small rocky chamber like the radiance of hell itself, and as Sam squeezed his eyes shut against it he heard another voice. A voice belonging to someone who should not be alive.

"I take it this means you've finished bonding with your angel there? Good. Then we can get started."

And Sam opened his eyes again to see Crowley emerging from the hellish red light, exactly as he had been before his supposed death, staring blandly down at Sam. It sparked a reluctant memory, and one Sam knew meant trouble-for just an instant, he saw Lucifer walking towards him in full archangel splendour though spattered ghoulishly with blood, against the flaming backdrop of the cage. This situation was all too familiar.

…

"Bobby where the _hell_ is Sam?" Dean's furious, slightly panicked voice echoed through the corridors of the house and Bobby, ever an early riser, sitting at his desk surrounded by books despite the dawn only just breaking behind the house, finally lost patience.

"How the hell d'you expect me to know, ya eejit? He's not a dog on a leash, boy can come and go as he wants."

Dean came slamming into his study then, looking angry and harassed. "He hasn't taken any single car, his jacket's in his room and there's no goddamn sign of him!"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, stranger things have happened. He's an adult too, ya know."

Dean looked ready to explode. "Are you nuts? Right when this whole Mother of All thing is getting tight? Something's happened. You didn't notice anything in the night?"

Bobby sighed. "Dean, get some coffee. Sam probably just went out early, people do that sometimes. You're overreacting." His surrogate son still looked mutinous. "Look, if he's not back in a couple hours it'll be worth getting worried. But cut him some slack, kid probably needs some alone time after all this."

Dean scowled and turned his back, storming out into the kitchen. Bobby ignored him, understanding that he had convinced him for now.

Six hours later things were not looking so good. Sam had not returned, and both Dean and a suddenly-worried Bobby had been out scouring the surrounding countryside for any sign of him. Nothing. It really was as if Sam had just disappeared off the face of the earth, and Dean seemed ready to implode.

"Okay, that does it," he snapped, flinging the Impala's keys down onto a table. "I'm calling Cas."

"You sure that's a good-" Bobby began, but Dean jabbed a furious finger at him. "No more bright ideas from you." He closed his eyes without further ado and looked upwards, intoning: "Castiel. We need you. This time we actually do. Can you get yourself down here?" He waited a beat, then suddenly snarled out: "Goddammit Cas, get your ass-"

"Dean," Bobby sighed. "Even angels need time to-" He jumped as Castiel materialised soundlessly before him and Dean instantly strode up to him. "Cas, Sam's missing. I need you to work your mojo and take a look for him, 'kay?"

"Where has he gone?' Castiel asked without emotion. Dean swore.

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you!"

"Are you sure he is missing?"

"_Yes_!"

"All right. I will take a look around." Castiel vanished-less than a second later he was back-and shaking his head. "I am sorry, but Sam is nowhere nearby, Dean. I have searched a hundred mile radius of this house and he is not here."

Den put his head in his hands. "Dammit I knew something had happened, I knew it…" He turned away suddenly, shoulders hunching over. "Sammy, why does this always happen to you? Why the hell can't you-" His voice broke. Bobby and Castiel could only watch him, helpless, uncertain. Abruptly Dean swung back around, snarling: "Well what the hell are you looking at?" He looked distraught, panicked-close, even, to crying.

"Dean-" Bobby had no words to finish his sentence, but as it turned out Dean did not give him time to flounder in any case.

"I can't lose him again, Bobby! I _can't_!"

Bobby's heart twinged with pity and worry. "Dean, we'll find him. We always do."

Dean just turned away again. Last time he had lost Sam it was to the Pit with Lucifer, and it had nearly destroyed him: without Lisa, it would have. And look at the consequences…no, somehow, over the course of the horror-fraught last months, he had lost all his faith, all the belief he had used to have that so long as he was alive Sam would always be all right. He had believed it hard enough even to bypass Sam's actual death, all those years ago. Now, though…he had nothing.

Oh, by the way. When Crowley calls Dean Cas's boyfriend, I'm not implying that there's anything like that going on. It's just because a lot of angels and so forth on the show have been making cracks about it, I'm just keeping in character with the smartasses of SPN! I personally don't think Castiel and Dean would ever have that kind of relationship or would ever want to. I don't write slash. Just clarifying that.

Anyway, hope you liked it, please leave me a review and let me know if I should just scrap this one, it probably isn't a great story but I just had this compulsion to get it out there…maybe I'm possessed lol. Anyway!


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot to say this before and in fact I always do-maybe it's some kind of subconscious overwhelming **_**desire**_** to forget-but I own nothing from Supernatural…**

Chapter 2:

"Well, Sam, long time no see, wouldn't you say?" Crowley said cheerfully, drawing close to the metal bench Sam was bound to and peering down at the young hunter. Haloed by the bloody light he was every inch a demon, and Sam had to fight a wave of hell-memories. "Killing me like that was really not nice, I have to admit. Still, at least it didn't take, eh?"

"How are you alive?" Sam demanded, pulling uselessly at his bonds.

"Ah, well, there's just the little issue of how it was never technically my bones you destroyed. Castiel helped me there. Useful little pet to have around the place, isn't he?"

Sam scowled. "How long has he been working for you? What hold do you have over him?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, quite honestly we're just after the same thing for different reasons. And right now that's your soul, Sam. Great job on getting that back, by the way. I almost didn't recognise you."

"What's the big deal about my soul?" Sam spat.

"Eve explained to you what a soul is like, didn't she? And why I want Purgatory. Well, all this Alpha-collecting business really does take its toll and I haven't exactly gotten far. So I found a plan B, you could say."

"_My_ soul?" Sam demanded. "That's one soul, remember? As opposed to uncountable billions."

"Yes, but your soul has something theirs do not," Crowley confided. "It's not often you find someone who's been touched by the highest powers of hell and heaven, and Death himself. Your soul is supercharged, Sam. Potentially. There's always that little problem of the wall-' Sam tensed, panic flowering within. God, no. They couldn't take down, the wall, surely…"But since no-one but Death or yourself can technically remove that we'll just have to work past it, won't we?"

"This is crazy," Sam said angrily. "This'll never work, Crowley. And what does Cas get out of all this?"

Crowley laughed shortly. "Aw, did you think he's been telling you the truth about _anything_? That's cute in its own way. Well, your Castiel is fighting a war in heaven, which he's losing pretty severely. Lucky for him and his angel buddies he's hit upon a new power source, which makes them almost invincible. The human soul. Too bad using it causes the human vessels extreme agony and usually death…which is why we've got our whole little schism between the ranks of the army. They're all fighting each other now, and Castiel can't do anything to protect himself except keep on leeching the juice out of you poor human beings." His face took on an innocent expression. "Yes, Castiel has been working for me for a long time. You think I really had the power to pull you out of the Cage? All him. Your soul was a prize even without Death's little additions. But it went wrong, didn't it, so Castiel and I separated for a while. And then what do you think happened?"

His words struck into Sam like physical blows and he lay back on the bench, suddenly desolate. He knew all too well what it could be like, feeling it necessary to do something so terrible for the sake of winning a war, of being strong enough. A part of him understood exactly what was going through Castiel's mind.

Mostly, though, he just could not believe that their friend could have lied to them about so much, or betrayed them like this. Betrayed them from the very beginning. Pulled him out of hell for Crowley, after everything…

At that moment Sam heard wingbeats and Castiel emerged through the bloody light. He looked, as always, blank and expressionless, but Sam thought just for an instant he could see in his eyes a flash of pain. Next moment it was gone, however, as if it had never been there, and Sam had to wonder if he had ever glimpsed it.

"Ah, Castiel, excellent timing. We were just talking about you," Crowley said pleasantly. "Are you ready to begin?"

Sam's entire body jerked involuntarily; he could not help it. "What are you going to do, dammit?"

Crowley smiled down at him. "Relax, Sam. We're just going to touch your soul to see what we can do with it. It'll only be a few minutes of unendurable agony."

Sam was not sure, not being an expert on souls and memory-blocking, Death-erected walls in people's minds, but he was fairly sure that anyone touching his soul now would not be at all good for the wall. That mere blink, months ago, when he had collapsed before Dean's eyes into a horrific flashback of his torture in the Pit, had convinced him that it was definitely there for a good reason. Now, as Castiel advanced towards him, rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, he felt panic beginning to explode within him. "No," he said wildly. "No, Cas, please…"

Castiel looked down at him, and this time there was definitely sympathy in his dark eyes. "I am sorry, Sam," he said quietly. Sam stared back at him, terrified, and then he forced himself to be still and lift his chin, proud and dignified despite being bound horizontally to a bench. If this was to be the end then he would not go down screaming and writhing like a child.

But when Castiel plunged his hand inside his chest and Sam felt that agony, that horrifically intrusive presence within him, reaching for his _soul_, his deepest sanctum, the place no-one should be, no-one should go near, he lost control, and suddenly there was nothing but the _pain_, the absolute blinding pain, like nothing he had known before.

…

"How the hell can we go and find him if we have no idea where the hell to look?" Dean snarled, whirling away from Bobby to face the wall, bracing his hands on it and breathing heavily, deeply, in great gulps as he tried to calm himself. "And Cas is a helluva lot of help…"

Bobby took a breath, realising that this would be awkward. "Dean-what if Castiel knows more than he's telling?" Silence. The sounds of far-off traffic were the only sounds, and they seemed suddenly removed, as if part of another dimension. Dean turned slowly, glaring.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Bobby spread his hands, looking helpless. "Something's up with him, Dean, you must have noticed it. We talked about this. But when you asked him about Sam there was just something…something in his eyes, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Hard to tell when an angel's lying, but…"

Dean was looking more puzzled than furious now. "But why would Castiel…"

"Boy, you think I know? But I'm sure that he knows more than he's telling is all…"

Dean frowned. "So what do we do? Call him down from his war and ask him if he's stashed Sammy somewhere and could we please have him back?"

Bobby shrugged. "We could try tracking him."

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I'll just go get my angel-teleportation hat then-"

"_Dean willya shut your cakehole and listen to me for five seconds_?" Bobby yelled suddenly. Dean, startled, shut up abruptly. Bobby shook his head in exasperation. "Oh, thanks. I know a _spell_ by which we should be able to track Castiel anywhere, something your Dad's old pal Pastor Jim taught me years ago. I think I can get got most of the ingredients, but getting Cas here and applying it'll be the tricky bit."

Dean didn't miss a beat. " I can handle that. But this is stupid, Cas wouldn't do this…"

Bobby shrugged. "It's all we have."

…

Castiel withdrew his hand from Sam's chest with a horrible sucking noise, and Sam, his voice raw from screaming, gave a kind of sobbing gasp and sagged back, fighting for breath, eyes clenched shut so tightly he could see explosions of red and blue shattering against his eyelids. He could feel the blackness threatening to take him and fought it with all that remained of his strength: the urge to escape this driving agony was intense, but he dared not let down his guard here and now. He could only lie there struggling just to breathe, desperate and broken. Above him their voices were like an indistinct buzz; he could not fully focus on them.

"I can't reach his soul through the wall," Castiel said without looking at Crowley. "I can feel it, but I can't access its power."

"You're saying he's useless to us?"

"Unless…" The angel's voice was dull, blank, utterly devoid of emotion. "Unless we can break down the wall."

Sam heard, wanted to scream but had no strength left. He had never imagined this, never imagined things becoming this dark. He had nothing left to give.

"But that's not possible," Castiel hastened to add. "Only Death can do that-or Sam himself."

"Yes, yes, thanks for that completely blindingly obvious newsflash," Crowley snapped. He sounded troubled. Sam forced himself to open his eyes; inside he felt like someone had squeezed his very heart until it bled and tore, then left it searing and failing within him. That wasn't really so far from what Castiel had actually done, of course…_Castiel_…of all people. His two torturers were standing a short distance away, deep in conversation. Sam tried to concentrate on his surroundings, but just the effort shot blasts of pain right through him and he slumped back, closing his eyes again. Then abruptly a shadow fell across him and he tensed.

"Now that looked as if it hurt," Crowley's voice said with interest. "You don't really want him to do that again, do you, Sam?"

Sam did not reply, did not open his eyes.

"But I guess you realise that we have all the time in the world. We can do this all night, kinky as it sounds. So you might want to think about co-operating."

"Don't get your hopes up," Sam rasped. They had to be crazy to think that he would voluntarily break down the wall just so that they could access the alleged power of his soul. Whatever they did to him would be nothing to what would happen if the wall fell.

"Sam," came Castiel's voice. "D'you want Raphael to win the war in heaven? When you could have stopped it? You sacrificed yourself to stop the apocalypse once before. This is only the same again. It may not even be as painful."

Yeah, because it'll kill me or destroy my mind completely in minutes…sure. Almost painless. But he could not deny what Castiel said-he and Dean were definitely on the opposite side to Raphael, definitely against another apocalypse. And it was true-he _had_ sacrificed himself for this once before. Was it true that by letting Castiel touch his soul he could actually save the world again? How could he be sure? And how could he manage it to prevent Crowley dipping in and using him for _his_ own gain? They had conflicting interests and he suspected that both foresaw a showdown before the end, since both could not win. It was almost ironic that they both needed the same thing to achieve their so-diverse ends: him.

He could not understand, could not think. He did not move or open his eyes, his brain working furiously. He was just going to have to work this out on his own, it would take time…God, he wished Dean was here now. To reassure him that this agony would not last forever, that there was still a way out, that he was there for him, even if it was not true. It would just give him that last burst of strength…but no, if Dean was here then he would be in worse condition to Sam, he would be trapped here too, and they would probably use him against Sam…

He just wished despite it all that his big brother could be here with him now. Just when he thought that he had grown out of needing him like that.

"I hope you realise that I'm onto your little game, Castiel," Crowley said at that moment. "Quite ironic really, isn't it, how we pretend to help each other just to betray at the last moment? I like it. You need me to provide you with all the souls I can, and I need you to give me what I want from them."

"After Raphael is defeated this will end," Castiel said quietly. Crowley spread his hands.

"So you keep saying. But are you any closer to beating him now than you were before? No. You need Sam Winchester's soul, as do I. Interesting game really, to see which of us gets it first." His half-smile vanished and suddenly he was all business again. "Go ahead. Take it out of him."

"_What_?" Sam yelled in horror. Crowley shrugged.

"Cost of doing business, my friend. We have to explore all angles."

Castiel looked up then, and approached the struggling, wild-eyed Sam again. He met his old friend's furious hazel gaze briefly, then turned his face away. "I'm sorry," he said again, and he shoved his hand inside the young hunter's body once more, and as Sam's screams echoed around the chamber he closed his eyes, half in concentration but half so as not to see the agony and torment etched into the face of this man who had once been his friend, who had already given far too much-whom he had betrayed.

…

"Castiel. We need you. Again." Still nothing. Frustrated, Dean turned back to Bobby, who stood just behind him holding a small whisky glass filled with a thick, gloopy dark liquid-hopefully, the one spell that could let them track Castiel. All they needed now was the angel himself. "Where the hell is he?"

"Busy?" Bobby offered. Dean had been calling him-he refused to admit to _praying_ these days-for a good ten minutes now, and it had never taken Castiel so long to arrive unless _something_ was wrong. Bobby was beginning to worry about Dean, too; it was two days since Sam had disappeared, and the older brother was clearly breaking apart. He did not sleep or eat, he had thrown himself wholly into preparing the spell, and now he looked gaunt and haggard with worry, eyes ringed with dark circles. Bobby suspected that he might actually be in a similar condition; they just could not lose Sam again. He loved him like a son, he had just got him back, barely even forgiven him for everything that had happened…

At that moment Dean jumped violently and swore as Castiel appeared directly behind him. "Can't you announce your presence or something?" he yelled. "It's freaky!"

Castiel looked at him as if he was insane. "You have been trying to contact me for eleven and a half minutes. Surely you were aware I would come."

"Oh for the-" Dean shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Listen, we're thinking Sam may be in Chicago, we found some newspapers in his room from last year and I'm thinking he went on another memory tour like when we hunted the arachne. Something about a killing spree and a breakout in the city around the time he was hunting with Samuel, which kinda sounds familiar. Only that's miles away from here, you think you could take a look?"

"Why would he have gone there without telling you?" Castiel asked him. Dean shrugged but Bobby answered, standing up and approaching, whisky glass held loosely in his hand. "'Cause he's an eejit and he knew Dean'd only try and stop him. Remember what happened last time?" Then suddenly he tripped over the leg of the table and almost fell, the glass in his hand smashing on the floor and splashing liquid everywhere, including onto the hem of Castiel's trenchcoat. Dean hurried to help him up.

"Get off me boy, willya just stop fussing? Getting old means getting clumsy." He bent down and started picking up the shards of broken glass. "Dammit, that was my best whisky…"

"I'll go to Chicago for you," Castiel offered. "But don't get your hopes up." He disappeared then, and Dean, delighted, saw the thin gold trail radiating away in a straight line right through the wall of the house. He punched the air.

Incidentally, I have no idea how far Chicago is from Bobby's house, I have never been to the US and I was to lazy to find out, so sorry if that's wrong! And don't give up on Sam. I love him with a soul too much to want it gone again so things may not be as they seem…please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: (see, I'm really making an effort to remember to write this, though it pains me to admit it) I own nothing you recognise from Supernatural.

Thanks for all your reviews!

Chapter 3:

Sam lay unconscious and motionless against the metal bench, sweat streaking his face, hair strewn across his eyes, his palms bleeding where his fingernails had dug into them. His breathing came shallowly, with effort, each gasp short and laboured and succeeded by a heartstopping pause that almost was not broken by the next exhalation. Castiel stood beside him, hands bloody, and Crowley was on his other side, looking furious.

"What do you mean it doesn't work?" he snapped. "How can it not work? You did it before by accident!"

Castiel had just tried for the second time to remove Sam's soul: the first try had already seemed hopeless when he had had to interrupt the process to answer Dean's call, which ignoring would not be a good idea in the present circumstances. On his return he had found Sam only semiconscious, moaning faintly and shivering in his bonds, and Crowley pacing furiously around the underground chamber around the tormented form of their prisoner, fast losing his patience. He had tried again-this time, too, it was just not a feasible task. He could not remove Sam's soul, and he did not know why.

When he had pulled him out of the Cage in the first place, leaving his soul behind had been accidental. He had not even realised that it was what had happened, at first, and then even he had been powerless to right what he had done. It was when Dean had persuaded Death to 're-soul' his little brother that Castiel had found himself increasingly unable to resist the power that soul now possessed…

Crowley had given him the idea of using souls in the first place, and pushed him to resurrect Sam for that reason alone. Castiel had almost been happy to find the young hunter without it, since now he was technically out of Crowley's interest and Castiel's own temptation…it was just that Dean's way of reversing what had happened had only made Sam more of a fascination and use to them. More of a target than ever.

And he had tried, had he not? Tried to dissuade Dean, tried to scare him off by telling him

the horrors that that tortured soul's replacement would promise. Partly, yes, for Sam's sake, because the thing was like a live bomb inside him, with the potential to destroy him utterly from the inside out, in moments, at any second; but also, largely, because once Sam's soul was back on the Earth and inside his body it would make him once again the ultimate target for Crowley.

Castiel had been ready to sacrifice that power for himself, and for a very, very long time it had worked. But his world was desperate; he could not afford to lose to Raphael and more and more he had again begun to look at Sam like a source, a method…and with the latest losses in battle he had not been able to stop himself. He had returned to Crowley and he had told him everything, and they had agreed once again to form their uneasy alliance. An alliance either one would break at the first whisper of success, as they both knew.

And after everything, he had betrayed Sam in the worst way possible.

Only to find that he actually was not capable of either gleaning any power from the young man's soul or removing it. The former could be explained by the wall. The latter…Castiel could only explain it by assuming that it actually was not possible to just take a soul away. Previously

Sam had been resurrected in two halves; this was not the same thing at all.

"I can't do it," he now told Crowley simply, but with a treacherous feeling deep down inside almost of relief. "It is possible that it cannot be done outside of the, ah, _unique_ environment of Lucifer's cage."

"Castiel," Crowley said quietly, acidly. "Perhaps you have forgotten why you are still around?"

Castiel sighed. "Accuse me of what you will, Crowley. I am not capable of removing Sam's soul."

Crowley stared at him for a long, long moment, then turned and vanished, teleporting away somewhere Castiel could not trace, leaving him alone there with the unconscious Sam. He approached him now, peering down at his ravaged face, wondering when, if ever, he would wake. The shock to his system of such probing would not be minor, and if it hadn't damaged the wall Castiel would be very surprised…Sam's head rolled to the side at that moment, his eyes flickering dazedly open to look into Castiel's with an expression of confusion. "Dean?" he mumbled, unable yet to see clearly.

"No," Castiel replied. Sam's focus sharpened a little and anger, not fear, crossed his face. "_You_-"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that," Sam whispered, already fading back into darkness, his strength and body shattered by the agony they had been subjected to. "Just stop saying it, for God's sake…"

…

"Well, this isn't suspicious at all," Dean said. "What the hell is Cas doing in a freakin' mine?" He was staring from the Impala out at the end of the golden trail: an old abandoned mine carved into the side of a sheer cliff in a forest somewhere in Maine. The door seemed to have been smashed down and through the shattered fragments of wood and plastic yawned a gaping darkness. He glanced at Bobby.

"What d'you think?"

Bobby was looking dubious. "Well, I can't see a legit reason for Cas to be hiding in some deserted mineshaft, but it's not like we understand everything he does."

Dean stared. "This whole crusade was your idea!"

Bobby shrugged. "I didn't say we shouldn't check it out."

Dean shoved open the door and went round to the trunk, pulling phials of holy water, knives, a gun loaded with both silver and iron rounds, and a lighter from his and Sam's private armoury there. He looked up to see Bobby raising his eyebrows. "What?" he said defensively. "We have no idea what's in there."

"_Castiel_?" Bobby suggested sarcastically.

"Well, what's he _doing_ in there?" Dean added defensively, then slammed the trunk closed and strode towards the mine, flicking on his flashlight. There was nothing to see inside but bare stone walls, a tunnel stretching away deep into the cliff; the air was clogged with soot and the stench of old gunpowder. Dean inched inside, stepping carefully in case the floor was not solid, every sense on the alert. He winced as he heard Bobby's tread behind him, no louder than his own but loud enough to set his nerves jangling.

"Can't you walk more quietly?" he hissed unreasonably. "You're like a herd of freakin' elephants!"

"In comparison to you, who's dainty as a ballerina?" Bobby returned acidly. Dean ignored this; he was preoccupied with spitting out the strands of a cobweb he had walked into and swallowed about half of. The dust on the floor was not disturbed by any footprints before theirs, but that did not mean there was no-one here. It wasn't as if Castiel needed to _walk_ many places.

After what seemed like hours of walking through the darkness and silence Bobby suddenly grabbed Dean's arm to alert him as they rounded a corner: Dean squinted ahead and gasped: the tunnel ended in a burst of deep, bloody red light. He glanced back at Bobby and nodded. They were getting close, to whatever it was they were hunting.

…

"Try again," Crowley commanded Castiel. The angel spread his hands.

"It will have no effect. And another attempt will probably kill him."

"If he's no use to us he'll die anyway," Crowley pointed out. "That's the thing about this business. You can't leave traces." He waited a beat, then grabbed Castiel suddenly by the front of the trenchcoat and dragged him forwards, snarling into his face: "_Do it again_, Castiel or I might decide to deal with a few other traces left behind."

Castiel stared into his face, unflinching, then, as Crowley released him, he looked down at Sam, lying there so broken before him. He took a deep breath. Sam and Dean, his only friends, since most angels did not save time for such human trivialities. But despite that, it was not something he could ever want to lose. Everything he had been through with them. His final attempt: the 'whisky' stain on the hem of his coat. He had given Dean a chance. A little more time might have done it…and Castiel just could not be sure if he wanted the unique power of Sam's soul more than he cared about him and Dean. War had hardened him beyond belief. He was a little afraid to discover exactly how much.

The losses in heaven, the countless angels dead. Castiel's empty, hollow, ruthless heart as he resolved to end this by whatever means possible. Raphael.

Sam was only one human being. He had to keep sight of that.

He reached out, placed his hand on Sam's chest. I'm sorry, he thought, for the thousandth time, although Sam had been right to reject it before. The words were empty and useless, a betrayal of their own meaning. A mockery. He closed his eyes in concentration, and then a gunshot rang out and a voice he recognised yelled in fury. He bent his head and something that was almost a smile, almost a grimace, crossed his face. And then he looked up impassively into Dean Winchester's enraged eyes.

"_Cas_?" Dean said in amazement, in horror. "What the hell is-"

Crowley stepped forward then, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. "Ah, Dean, Bobby-" he tipped the latter a wink-"So good of you to join the party!"

Bobby was practically snarling at him. Apparently old grudges didn't fade that easily.

"And there's no need to look so confused, Dean. Surely you realise now that your Castiel has betrayed you?" Crowley shrugged. "_Angels_. It's practically in the job description."

"As opposed to demons," Bobby spat. Dean had shoved past Castiel to where Sam lay motionless, barely breathing, on the bench, and was frantically feeling for a pulse. "Sammy," he called desperately. "Sammy, come on, can you hear me?" When he was rewarded with no response he looked up at Castiel again with a glare like thunder. "_What did you do to him_?"

"Oh, we've just been getting to know each other a bit," Crowley interjected cheerfully. "Soul to soul, you might say."

Bobby looked horrified. "You screwed with the kid's _soul_? _Again_?"

Crowley sighed. "Honestly, I'd love to stay and catch up, I really would. But places to go, people to see, you know how it is. So I'll just be off…" And before either Dean or Bobby could even protest he had vanished into thin air. Both outraged hunters turned as one on Castiel.

"How could you do this?" Dean snarled furiously. "Better rewards working with your enemies? How the _hell_ could you do this?"

Castiel thought of a thousand answers then. _Try fighting a war. See what it does to you_. Or-_I had no choice_. Or-_at least I let you track me here_. But in the end he knew that none of them would suffice. He looked up and he gave Bobby and Dean the exact same answer he had been torturing Sam with, the most futile, useless and mocking reply he could possibly think up. "Believe me," he said quietly. "I am sorry." And then he ran, figuratively: he flew, for right then escaping their rage was all he could do.

He was so much weaker than he had ever thought. So much more cowardly, and so much better at making the hard choices others might call acts of evil. He was shocked even to realise it. Shocked to realise that a vital part of him still hungered for Sam's soul-force.

Dean was fumbling to cut through the leather straps binding Sam to the bench with his knife, his hands shaking with rage and worry. Anger surged again within as he saw the livid scarlet marks and bruising on his little brother's wrists, where the unpadded cuffs had cut into his skin. The straps finally gone, he bent over the limp body, shaking Sam desperately. "Sammy! Come on, dammit! _Sam_!"

Bobby put a hand on his arm. "Don't do that, you'll hurt him." But it seemed to have been effective. Sam's eyes flickered open and suddenly he lashed out in blind panic, a strangled half-sob of pain breaking from his throat. Dean grabbed his flailing arms, stilling him. "Easy, Sammy, easy, it's me, you're safe, you hear? You're safe…"

"Dean?" Sam rasped, trying to focus his vision. Dean breathed out in incredible relief. "Yeah, the one and only."

"Dean, it's…it's Cas, he…" It was clearly too difficult to speak, the young man's voice almost destroyed by screaming. Sam braced his elbows against the bench and with an effort tried to sit up. Dean, seeing his attempts, gripped him around the shoulders and levered him up. Sam hunched over, breathing hard, eyes closed. His hair hung down into his face in sweat-matted jags.

"I know," Dean muttered. "And trust me he's gonna pay for it. Right now we need to get you outa here, Sammy, you think you can walk?"

"I think-" Sam swung his legs off the bench and went to stand: his knees buckled under him and Dean moved fast to steady him. "Hey, take it easy. Lean on me." He pulled Sam's arm around his shoulders and Bobby came to support him on the other side. With Sam stumbling and struggling to keep his legs under him, they somehow made it out of the mineshaft and out into the open air, where the Impala was waiting to accommodate them. Dean opened the back door and Sam managed to fold himself inside and half-collapse curled along the backseat. Dean reached over for the blanket he always kept on the floor there and shook off the dust before laying it gently across his shivering brother, hearing a hoarse and grateful murmur of acknowledgement, and then he and Bobby took their places in the front again, and Dean started the engine.

"You should rest," Dean told Sam. "It's a while back to Bobby's. Okay?"

"'Kay," came Sam's whispered reply. "Dean-how…how d'you...how d'you find me?"

Dean smiled grimly. "Long story," he said. "Tell ya later, all right? Get some rest."

…

Sam slept the entire way back to Bobby's house, a journey of several hours. Dean did not stop in all that time, afraid of ambush by either Castiel or Crowley, and as a result when he finally pulled up in the darkness of midnight outside Bobby's house he stood up stiff and aching.

"Well, we made it, huh?" he said, beginning to feel slightly more cheerful. It was rare that anything went _this_ according to plan in their lives, though admittedly neither Crowley or Castiel had exactly stood and fought. Maybe here had been no point by then…they would not know until Sam was recovered enough to actually talk about what he had suffered at their hands. Dean was not happy, certainly, with the idea of inflicting something like that on his little brother, of making him relive the trauma, but it was definitely necessary to know exactly where they stood.

"Don't speak too soon," Bobby pointed out, more pessimistically. Dean ignored this and flung open the back door to wake Sam. "Hey, sleeping beauty. We're here."

Sam opened his eyes to a splitting headache that blurred his vision and pounded in his skull like a drum. It was not dissimilar to the kind of pain he had felt when he had experienced premonitions brought on by his demon blood and connection to Azazel and the other psychic kids all those years ago, but it did not really _worry_ him, however much it hurt: Crowley and Castiel hadn't exactly gone easy on him: and all in all he was doing far better than he had expected. He sat up, closing his eyes briefly against the wave of dizziness that broke suddenly over him, then with Dean's help made it out of the car. He frowned. There was a strange sensation in his head, a sort of loose, unstable feeling. He could not quite place it, but it seemed to be increasing with every second that passed. Well, he had had his soul probed several times…

_Oh hell. My soul_-

He looked up at Dean and there was panic in his wide hazel eyes, but he was already too late. Suddenly the memories were streaming through him, agony blasting across his body, burning alive, skinned alive, torn apart. He felt himself fall to his knees under the waves of torment, felt Dean grab his shoulders, calling his name in panic. "It's the wall-" he managed to gasp out, before he lost sight of everything but the pain, and the tortures of his memories overwhelmed him.

Okay, this is not going to be three chapters long as I originally planned! I couldn't leave Sam there, could I? I'll try and finish it in one more chapter-but sorry for the cliffy again! What else could I do? Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Small instance of swearing here, don't know if it needs a warning but bear in mind that Dean's going crazy…

Chapter 4:

Dean caught Sam as he fell to his knees, calling his name, asking him frantically what was wrong-then his little brother looked up blindly and Dean gasped to see the raw and horrified agony blazing in those wide hazel eyes. Even before Sam forced out the words: "It's the wall-" Dean knew what was happening, and panic blasted through him. For an instant he could not move-Dean Winchester, completely paralysed with terror. And then Sam had collapsed in his arms, his body stiff and rigid, eyes staring and filled with pain. "No!" Dean cried. "No, no! Sammy! _Sam_!" Running footsteps, and then Bobby was dropping beside them, pulling Sam's frozen body away from Dean, shaking him, feeling for a pulse. "It's the wall, isn't it," he said, and without waiting for an answer he was manhandling Dean to his feet, forcing him to help him carry the unresponsive Sam inside. Dean complied numbly, unable to believe that such a thing could have happened. The wall fallen-the wall gone-Sammy fading away-

Last time it had been mere minutes that Sam had lain staring into nothing but his memories of hell, lost in the torment of the past. Dean had almost given up hope then. Now…

He should have expected this. After everything Crowley and _Castiel_ had done to his brother's soul…he should have expected this kind of repercussion. Just as they had thought Sam safe, this stage of the battle at least over…always the same. He could remember so clearly that time over four years ago now, having given everything, fighting so hard to find Sam after he had disappeared, to see him stumbling through the mud in Cold Oak towards them, one injured arm cradled against his chest, smiling that weary, relieved smile Dean had feared he would never see again-then the horror of the inevitable, and the dark shadow of Jake behind him, the crunch as the knife was shoved into Sam's back, his brother's agonised broken gasp as he crumpled-

It was barely different at all. And Dean was sick of it.

Somehow he and Bobby managed to get Sam into the house and lay him on one of the couches in the sitting room; immediately he was flung over his brother, shouting his name, _screaming_ for him to wake up until Bobby dragged him forcefully away and yelled into his face that it would do no good. Dean, almost crying, yelled right back: "How the hell do you know?" And it was then that Sam's condition changed-his body twisted and he gave a kind of strangled gasp, and Dean, startled into hopefulness, turned, desperate. But Sam was not waking. He turned violently, almost falling off the couch, and his head snapped back against its arm as he suddenly screamed, a horrific howl of the most terrible agony. Dean rushed back across to him, grabbing his arms and trying vainly to still him, but Sam was thrashing and flailing wildly on the couch now, his every breath coming shallow and laboured, that horrible animal screaming still coming from his throat in short, desperate bursts.

"Sam!" Dean cried. "Sam, come on, _come on_! Sammy!" Bobby could only stare in horrified astonishment. This was not just a temporary blip. This was the wall falling, and falling fast and violently. This was every one of the most horrific memories possible overcoming Sam, all at once, destroying him from the inside out. And he and Dean were here to watch it, helpless.

Sam's body suddenly convulsed again, arms striking upwards mechanically, as if not of his own accord, muscles standing out corded and taut. Dean was carding his hair with one hand, trying to calm him, trying to get through to him, but it was hopeless, of course it was hopeless…Sam was unreachable. His screaming was fading now, his voice almost gone, and instead great sobs of breath shook his whole body. His head snapped from side to side with such force Dean was afraid he might break his neck, and now he could hear strangled sounds that might almost have been words: "No-no-no more-please-_please_!"

"Sam!" Dean cried in despair. And Bobby's voice behind him: "Dean-there's nothing we can do-Dean, it's too late-" But he was not even aware of it. All he knew was that his little brother was lying here before him being invisibly tortured before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it, no way to get through to Sam, and it was all his fault, he should never have made that deal with Death, never risked doing this to his baby brother, never let Sam get himself kidnapped, never let him jump into the Pit with Lucifer and Michael in the first place.

And now-could this really be the end?

He had long since given up hoping for a miracle when he heard the wingbeats. He thought, then, that he was imagining things, because why would Castiel be insane enough to return here now? But then he looked up from his despair and saw the grave-faced angel standing there, and he surged to his feet with a cry of fury.

"You goddamn pr*ck, you're gonna pay for this-"

Castiel held up a hand. "I do not come to ask for your forgiveness," he said quietly. "I have come to help."

Dean leapt for his throat, only for the angel to disappear-causing Dean to stumble and crash to the floor right where Castiel had been standing-and reappear across the room beside Sam.

"Get the hell away from him, you-"

"Dean," Castiel said. "I will not stay long. But there is a chance I can help your brother."

"Get _away_!" Dean roared, and would have leapt again if Bobby had not grabbed him in an armlock and held him back. "Leggo of me, dammit-"

"Let him speak," Bobby said in a voice of deadly calm.

"He _did_ this to Sam!"

"If he's telling the truth then this is our only hope," Bobby pointed out. "_Let him speak_."

Dean glared back at Castiel. "Make it quick, you traitor," he snarled. "Or trust me I will tear you limb from limb!"

"I have the power of many human souls inside me," Castiel explained seriously. "There is a chance that I can use this power to heal the breach in the wall. But you will have to let me touch Sam's soul once more."

"You are not going _near_ him-"

Bobby interrupted then. "Whose side are you _on_?" he demanded of Castiel. "Why would you help us now?"

Castiel looked momentarily hopeless. "Because for a very few minutes I still believe that this is the right thing to do."

"As opposed to trying to suck it back outa him five minutes ago?" Dean spat.

"At the time I thought I was right. In a short while I will again. That is what fighting a war does to you, Dean-it makes you conflicted, and it makes you harder." He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I do not pretend to call myself your ally any longer. But right now I believe I can help Sam." His gaze strayed to the younger Winchester's trembling, convulsing body. "It may be his only chance."

Dean looked at Castiel, and he felt only hatred, and betrayal, and fury. But then he looked at his little brother's tortured form, and he hesitated. How could he trust Castiel now? How could he trust him to probe Sam's soul again?

And yet what choice did they have?

Sam made another hopeless moaning sound, twisting his head to the side, and Dean decided instantly. "Fine," he snapped. "But I'm warning you, if you double cross us I will personally-"

"Yes, I know," Castiel interrupted almost resignedly, and moved in on Sam. And once again he pushed his hand inside his chest and Dean saw a burst of white light, and Castiel's face furrowed in concentration, and Sam gave the most tortured scream yet, a yell that froze Dean's blood. And then with a bizarre crackling sound, like fire, Castiel stumbled back, the light fading utterly and leaving the room looking duller than ever, leeched free of colour, and Sam shuddered and fell limp and still on the couch, breathing hard as if he had been running for many hours. Dean yanked free of Bobby and half-fell down beside the couch, grabbing his brother's shoulders.

"Sammy. Sammy..?"

Sam's eyes slid slowly open, dazed and confused, and looked into his big brother's. "Dean?" he whispered. "What…what happened?" And then suddenly his eyes had slipped closed once more and his breathing slowed and he was asleep, exhausted beyond belief by the turmoil of the last few hours. In one involuntary movement he turned his head slightly to lay against his brother, seeking that security even in unconsciousness. Dean, shaking with relief, turned to Castiel, but the angel did not give him time to speak.

"The same rules apply to the wall as before," he said, pale-faced from exertion and grave. "But if I come near him again-"

Dean frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean that I may decide I did wrong," Castiel said. "Protect him from me. There is a part of me that the war has changed, that I can barely control, because it is as much right and a much a part of me as this. If I try later to reverse this-" His face suddenly twisted with a kind of desperate anguish. "_Stop me_." And then he was gone.

I didn't want to make a false end to the series, incidentally. I just wanted to fill in that gap with my random idea. So that's why I didn't really resolve anything, and thank God tomorrow will bring the next the next episode, yay! But yes, that's why the problem of Crowley isn't resolved and Castiel is only partially redeemed, maybe not at all depending on your opinion…and Sam still has that ticking bomb inside him! So sorry to anyone who expected more, but I didn't have time to make up my own full ending, and I didn't really want to write the end of the season anyway…

So, there, it's finished, just in time! However bad or random it is I'm proud that I wrote it all in four days anyway! I'm so grateful to those of you who reviewed this story and got me writing the end as I planned with your enthusiasm. Thank you!

Ani

PS: I promise now I will continue with Personal Demons! Just a temporary break…:-)


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